"Let's have a look at Jim's last epistle, mother," said Dick, when the feast was nearly over, and fragrant coffee smoked upon the board, (for you know the Thorogood Family were total abstainers), "and let Fred read it aloud. He's by far the best reader amongst us." "Well, that's not sayin' much for him," remarked the fireman, with a sly glance at his sister. "Your lamp is not as powerful as it might be, mother," said Fred, drawing his chair nearer to that of the fair invalid, as he unfolded the letter. "Turn your eyes this way, Molly,--there, keep 'em steady on the page; I can see _now_!" "Eagle's Nest, Rocky Mountain Slopes, 5th October 18---," began Fred. "Darling Mother,--You've no idea what a charming place God has given me here, with plenty of work to do of the most congenial kind. I have only an opportunity for a short letter this time, because the postboy has arrived unexpectedly, and won't wait. Postboy! You would smile at that word if you saw him. He's a six-foot man in leather, with a big beard, and a rifle and tomahawk. He was attacked by Indians on the way over the mountains, but escaped, and he attacked a grizzly bear afterwards which didn't escape--but I must not waste time on _him_, Well, I must devote all my letter this post to urging you to come out. This is a splendid country for big, strong, hearty, willing men like father and my brothers. Of course it is no better than other countries--rather worse--for weak men, either in mind or body. Idlers go to the wall here as elsewhere; but for men willing and able to work--ready to turn their hands to anything--it is a splendid opening. For myself--I feel that my Heavenly Father has sent me here because there is work for me to do, and a climate which will give me health and strength to do it. My health is better now than it has ever been mince the day of that fall which damaged my constitution so much as to render me one of the confirmed cripples of the earth. But it was a blessed fall, nevertheless. I was cast down in order that I might be lifted up. You would smile, mother,--perhaps you'd laugh--if you saw me at my work. I'm a Jack-of-all-trades. Among other things I'm a farmer, a gardener, a carpenter, a schoolmaster, a shoemaker, and a missionary! The last, you know, I consider my real calling. The others are but secondary matters, assumed in the spirit of Paul the tent-maker. You and dear Molly would rejoice with me if you saw my Bible Class on week-days, and my congregation on Sundays. It is a strange congregation to whom I have been sent to tell the old old story of Jesus and His love. There are farmers, miners, hunters, even painted savages among them. My church is usually a barn--sometimes a tent--often the open air. There are no denominations here, so that I belong to none. Only two sects exist-- believers and unbelievers. But the place is growing fast. Doubtless there will be great changes ere long. Meanwhile it is my happy duty and